See, two days in the house, being a bit pooped and poorly, and I didn’t smoke at all. I don’t smoke in the house. Because it smells. So I woke up this morning and thought – right, well, I’ve gone for two and a half days without smoking purely by not leaving the house (well done me – medical breakthroughs’r’me – to order my full book: Anna Picarr’s Stop Smoking by Forgetting to Leave the House: My Laziness Beats Your Will Power, call 0898 … – etc) – where was I? – oh yus. Woke up this morning (blues break) decided that since I’d managed to go two and a bit days without the evil whatjamacallits, I might as well just carry on and give up forever.

I usually have three cigarettes a day. Unless I go to the pub, in which case I have a million. About a million, anyway. But otherwise, three a day. Half a cigarette on the way to work, one at lunchtime, one at the bus stop after work, and half walking from the bus stop to my house.

This morning, no cigarette. Got to work, a little twitchy, a little grumpsome, but fine. Yay!

Lunchtime came and went. No cigarette! And I was fine! Go Binnie GO!

Midafternoon. Danger! A touch of stress. No cigarette. I rule. People ask if I want to go for a cigarette. No, I do not want to go for a cigarette thank you. I have left my tobacco at home today thank you. Thank you for asking, but I have willpower (of kinds), please enjoy your cigarette, I will be here at my desk, Not Smoking. Thank you.

To the bus stop on the way home. Cigarette? No.

My god, I’m doing well, I thought. I have not smoked now for three days (one of those out of the house!)(or almost one of those)(whatever).

By the time I reached 7pm, I decided that I’d done so well, I should celebrate, so bought some more tobacco, and had a lovely lovely cigarette.

It was great. All rolled up and cigarettey and smoky and nicotine-filled and yum.

I have absolutely no regrets. Some people may be disappointed in me, some people may think I did the wrong thing. But no. It was absolutely the right thing to do.